icial
gratification.

At length, however, a visible change took place in her manners. A
scornful affectation and awkward dignity began to be assumed. A greater
attention was paid to dress, which was of gayer hues and more
fashionable texture. I rallied her on these tokens of a sweetheart, and
amused myself with expatiating to her on the qualifications of her
lover. A clownish fellow was frequently her visitant. His attentions did
not appear to be discouraged. He therefore was readily supposed to be
the man. When pointed out as the favourite, great resentment was
expressed, and obscure insinuations were made that her aim was not quite
so low as that. These denials I supposed to be customary on such
occasions, and considered the continuance of his visits as a sufficient
confutation of them.

I frequently spoke of Betty, her newly-acquired dignity, and of the
probable cause of her change of manners, to my father. When this theme
was started, a certain coldness and reserve overspread his features. He
dealt in monosyllables, and either laboured to change the subject or
made some excuse for leaving me. This behaviour, though it occasioned
surprise, was never very deeply reflected on. My father was old, and the
mournful impressions which were made upon him by the death of his wife,
the lapse of almost half a year seemed scarcely to have weakened. Betty
had chosen her partner, and I was in daily expectation of receiving a
summons to the wedding.

One afternoon this girl dressed herself in the gayest manner and seemed
making preparations for some momentous ceremony. My father had directed
me to put the horse to the chaise. On my inquiring whither he was going,
he answered me, in general terms, that he had some business at a few
miles' distance. I offered to go in his stead, but he said that was
impossible. I was proceeding to ascertain the possibility of this when
he left me to go to a field where his workmen were busy, directing me to
inform him when the chaise was ready, to supply his place, while
absent, in overlooking the workmen.

This office was performed; but before I called him from the field I
exchanged a few words with the milkmaid, who sat on a bench, in all the
primness of expectation, and decked with the most gaudy plumage. I rated
her imaginary lover for his tardiness, and vowed eternal hatred to them
both for not making me a bride's attendant. She listened to me with an
air in which embarrassment was mingled